


Lavender

by ms4815162342



Series: Lavender [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, HTP, HYDRA Trash Party, I hate myself, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, enjoy, fem!Bucky, fuck this dumb shit, it's fucking happening anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 02:31:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6311677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms4815162342/pseuds/ms4815162342
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky is living at Stark Tower with the Avengers, but hasn't yet realized Steve isn't her new handler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lavender

**Author's Note:**

> Female Bucky. Don't know why, that's just the state of things.  
> Steve has rescued Bucky, and she's living in an apartment with him in Stark Tower. She thinks he's her handler, but is working through things with a therapist.  
> Hydra Trash Party so... past abuse and rape.

The alarm is ringing beside her bed, and Bucky punches the snooze button on top with her human hand. It’s 6:00am, but she is sprightly jumping up from the sheets and pulling on her standard workout clothes. The calf length shorts go over her knees; sports bra goes on before the black razor back tee; shoes are laced up.  
  
She walks out into the kitchen area and pauses. He isn’t here yet. She can see the refrigerator standing like it always does in between countertops. She knows it’s been freshly resupplied because she saw him stocking it up a few days before. Her eyes flick over to his bedroom door: still closed.  
  
She’s waiting. Bucky shifts her weight between both feet, watching how the running shoes make different indentions in the carpet. The sofa is positioned not too far from her left side; an idea crosses her mind that she could sit there and wait. She doesn’t.  
  
The door is still closed. The refrigerator is still there.  
  
She resists the urge to pace back and forth. She resists the urge to sit at the couch. Her dark eyebrows come together as she thinks he wouldn’t be happy to hear her thinking that. She wants to kneel. He definitely wouldn’t be happy about that.  
  
Now she’s getting frustrated. She can hear his voice in her head telling her she can get anything from the fridge whenever she wants. It also tells her she can sit on the couch when she wants. The stronger voice is telling her to kneel.  
  
Her legs can’t take being idle any longer, and she walks around the couch. She’s in the kitchen, then back in the living room. She’s walking by the window, and the couch again...and the fridge. She ends up standing back in front of her bedroom door.  
  
The other door knob turns, and Steve is finally here. Just like her, he is wearing workout clothes. His body posture tenses as he sees her standing in front of her room. She can tell he cycles through a few different words before asking, “Do you want something to eat before we run?”  
  
She tries to emulate him and think through responses until finding the proper one. Do you want me to eat? Am I going to eat? Is this another trick? Do you want me to watch you eat? She knows he won’t be happy with these. Finally, “Are you going to eat?” That’s a safe bet.  
  
His eyes soften. “Yes. I’m hungry, so I’m going to eat some toast. Are you hungry?”  
  
That’s a trap. She’s heard that one before. Show them your weakness and they’ll exploit it. “No,” immediate response.  
  
“Bucky.” His reaction is instantaneous too. There’s no more softness to his eyes. That name cuts sharp through the air. “If you feel hungry, I want you to eat.”  
  
Some handlers are like that. Some handlers want her to be well-nourished. But she just ate the night before! Surely her body is going to get slower now with all the food she’s been eating. And yet she can feel herself growing accustomed to it already and craving it so frequently. “Okay,” she says hesitantly.  
  
Steve walks over to the refrigerator and finally opens it. He grabs a few things from within and places them on the counter. He takes bread out of the bag and puts the slices into the toaster. Two glasses are retrieved from an overhead cabinet and filled with orange juice. As he places one closest to her, he realizes she hasn’t moved since he walked out of his room.  
  
“Sit down,” he says, gesturing to the bar stools. She does immediately, and he kicks himself internally for being so short.  
  
The toast comes out crispy and warm; it’s buttered and placed in front of her. He consumes a slice and watches as she slowly does the same. Another round of bread comes out and they eat the toast in silence, drinking down the orange juice.  
  
“I want you to feel fit during the run. Do you need more food?” Steve asks. He’s been practicing the wording in his head during their brief breakfast.  
  
Bucky considers it. “I don’t want to be sick. This is good,” she says genuinely.  
  
“We’ll eat lunch soon after we’re done,” he tries to reassure her.  
  
Another meal?! What are they trying to do to her?  
  
Steve grabs their workout bag and leads the way out of the room. She immediately feels more relaxed. No more of these mind games to play; a solid workout to keep her body sharp. Stark’s tower has a fully equipped gym on one of the bottom floors for the guests to train; that’s where they’re headed now.  
  
They run. They lift heavy things. They tone. They build.  
  
Steve is clearly amused to have a partner who can keep up with his physical exertions.  
  
They’re using the towels Steve brought to wipe the sweat off of their faces. Bucky feels infinitely better. She loves having muscles that feel strong and can prove their worth. Sweat shows how hard she’s been working to stay good at what she does. She almost smiles.  
  
“Okay, time to shower,” Steve says, and instantly regrets it.  
  
Bucky can’t control the way her body loses its relaxed muscles. She’s standing at attention instead of leaning her weight on one hip.  
  
“You’re in the girl’s and I’m in the men’s,” he tries to correct himself, but it doesn’t make her seem more comfortable at all. Steve tries to think of something that can help the situation, but just ends up handing her a bottle of bodywash and shampoo. He unhappily walks away, towards the men’s showers.  
  
Bucky waits for him to disappear behind the wall before setting off towards the women’s. She strips out of the dirty clothes she’s wearing and tosses them in the large laundry basket. She gets the water nearly scalding, as she prefers it, and soaps up with the lavender wash Steve gave her. She’s washing away all of her hard work and replacing it with the smell of plants. Still not used to some of this new handler’s customs.  
  
As she cuts the stream off and wrings the water out of her hair, she realizes Steve didn’t give her replacement clothes. She stares at the usually occupied bench, then looks around the locker room.  
  
Oh. She finally realizes. She’s been expecting it, but Steve hasn’t so much as touched her yet. Some of them like that slow, hard-to-get burn. Besides, she hasn’t been on a mission since she got reassigned. She should have known.  
  
Bucky uses one of the towels folded on a shelf to dry off, then places it in the same laundry basket as before. She’s been at the tower for a while and might be a little rusty at this; a deep breath reassures her and she marches out of the showers.  
  
She’s making her way across the gym, searching for Steve, but he must still be in the guys’ showers. Of course, she thinks. It would be counter intuitive to get dressed again. Natasha is down here working out too, but she stops as soon as she sees Bucky. Her eyes are wide as Bucky looks over her and keeps walking to the other wall.  
  
“James?” she tries to call to her.  
  
Bucky cannot be distracted during a mission for her handler.  
  
The men’s showers are steamy from the running water. Bucky glances around to see if anyone besides Steve is here. Does he want it to be just him or will there be others? Maybe Natasha too? Her scouting proves they are alone in the room.  
  
He’s scrubbing his head under the shower but turns around when he hears her walking up. His expression makes her stop early so that she’s still a few feet from him. He’s frozen, hands still threaded through his hair. His eyes are locked on hers after he’s registered that she’s standing naked in front of him.  
  
She takes another step forward.  
  
“Bucky, stop,” he booms.  
  
She halts, trying not to show confusion. She should know what her handler wants at all times. Is this more of the hard-to-get play?  
  
Steve cuts off the water and wraps his waist in a nearby towel. “What are you doing?” he asks.  
  
Bucky isn’t sure how to answer that. “I’m here for you to fuck me,” seems to be the only response. She’s wrong. He’s getting upset. She should have stuck with the coquettish game.  
  
“Why do you think...that?” he manages to get out.  
  
She tries to back pedal; she shouldn’t be upsetting him like this. “The clothes…” He doesn’t say anything, so she painstakingly continues. “You didn’t give me new clothes to wear.”  
  
Steve jumps into action and pulls a fresh shirt, underwear, and pair of shorts from the duffel bag.  
  
Bucky is confused. What does he want?!  
  
“Get dressed,” he tells her as he passes them off.  
  
She follows commands, of course, but her mind is racing. She hates when it does that; she hates when they make her think too much. It confuses her. Thinking too hard brings memories to her mind that she doesn’t remember; they’re not nice memories either.  
  
Today’s already been taxing on her. She’s had to play these games since she woke up, but he’s not taking over. He just lets her stew in her own thoughts and refuses to sit her down in the machine that makes her feel better. She longs for that seat and those clamps on either side of her head that can clear her mind up. Steve hasn’t let her sit down in it yet. He just keeps toying with her.  
  
He can see in her face that today is costing her. Both of his hands are on her shoulders, and he’s pushing her down onto a bench. Steve never touches her, but he has to get control now before her thoughts take over.  
  
He gets a brush and elastic band from the bag and sits on the bench behind her. He starts humming an old tune and running the brush through her hair. She can tell he’s already gotten the tangles out, but Steve continues what he’s doing. Her hair is shoulder length, and she knows this much care isn’t needed, but the rhythm and the humming are slowing her thoughts. When he puts the brush down, his fingers replace it. Starting at the front of her scalp, he gathers strands together in different sections. This one is laced above; this one is laced below. He takes another strand and works it into the braid. Steve takes his time, humming different slow tunes as the two of them sit on the bench in otherwise silence. He finishes braiding in the last piece before tying it off with the band.  
  
Her head is quiet and clear again, and she keeps her eyes closed to remain that way. She can feel his fingers linger at the nape of her neck; his breath hitting the same spot tells her how close he is.  
  
The familiarity of the situation and the talks she’s been having with the doctor stir an idea in her mind. “You love me?” she whispers, because she can’t bear the thought of asking out loud and just being tricked again.  
  
“Yes,” he breathes behind her.  
  
“You were going to marry me?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
They aren’t touching.  
  
The ideas keep coming to her, but they happened so long ago that it’s hard for her to make them out. Are they even real?  
  
“I fell.”  
  
He’s silent.  
  
“They took me.”  
  
“Yes.” It comes out as a growl.  
  
“They…”  
  
He waits for her to finish, but when she’s quiet he prompts her with “Bucky?”  
  
She feels herself crying but refuses to open her eyes and lose the thought.  
  
“Steve?” She isn’t asking his name or getting his attention. It’s a plea.  
  
He’s never heard her say it like that since he found her and his arms instinctively wrap around her. She knows him. He’s crying now too and rocking her back and forth. Her arms clutch onto his and she chokes back a sob.  
  
“Buck, I’m here,” he tries to reassure her.  
  
They sit like that for a while, but eventually Steve lets her go, stands up, and wipes the tears from his face.  
  
Her eyes are open again. Steve gets dressed in his fresh clothes and uses his towel to wipe the tear streaks from her cheeks. As he’s watching her, he recognizes the guarded look in her eyes. His Bucky is gone again.  
  
He swallows the lump in his throat. “Are you ready for lunch?”  
  
Trap. It’s a trick. “Do you want me to eat lunch?”


End file.
